4 replies to this topic

[Arcalian]

The moon was high over the desert. A smoky mist floated along, slowly and carefully, over the windswept dunes.

Eventually, the mist took the form of a lovely woman.

"Charmain has some sense of humor," Bhodi muttered. "To send a vampire into a sun scorched desert."

Contrary to popular belief, vampires do not truly need their coffins. They are preferable, but not strictly neccesary. All that is required is a bit of one's native soil kept on one's person (in Bhodi's case, a magical vial full of soil from the base of the Tree of Life of Suldenessalar, implanted under the skin of her left arm), and protection from the sun. Bhodi was less then amused to be burying herself under the sand before each dawn. The fine grains of the stuff got everywhere.

The troupe had defeated the "heroes" that had come to stop them in Baldur's Gate, and on the urging of Imoen, returned to Atkatla, where the local branch of the Twisted Rune was trying to move in on their territory. All of them, even Bhodi and Sarevok, had been in favor of negotiation rather than combat. But the local chapter of the Twisted Rune had been intractable, not willing to negotiate for a perentage or even an alliance. Still Imoen had counselled a nonviolent approach, so Bhodi had been sent to speak to their superiors in Calimshan. This was not the final authority of the Twisted Rune by any means, but it was the next level up in the chain of command, as it were.

Irenicus had wondered aloud why they would send Bhodi, and said her alone. Imoen had pointed out that with her long practice at vampiric seduciton, Bhodi was actually the one of them with the closest thing to diplomatic skill. If needs must, Imoen and Charmain would send avatars to support her case. Irenicus had muttered but not protested further. Sarevok and Amellysan had been no trouble; neither had wanted to go.

Bhodi was still more than a day from her destination, a hidden fortress in the desert. She hated deserts and desert travels, and not just because of her undead nature. Both in life and unlife, she had been a creature of society and intrigue; neither was to be found in the desert wilderness.

Or was there?

"Here pretty pretty," said a less than bright bandit. "Ye can't expecting to live long dresed like that in the desert." He drew a long knife.

He was a fool but he had spirit; normally Bhodi would have been delighted to seduce him, in both the carnal and vampiric senses of the word. But the long trek had put her in low spirits.

"You live so long as I tolerate it," she replied in a low voice, and lunged for his neck. She had no interest in creating another child just now; so she drained him dry. He would rise as a ghoul or ghast the next night and wander the blasted sands. She didn't care; she had far too much else on her mind.

She didn't get much further that night after that little distraction; she winced as her hpyersensitive vampire eyes detected teh first glimmer of predawn.

Muttering curses at Imoen, Amellysan, and Charmain, she slowly undulated downwards, pushing herself into a sand dune, feeling the sand rub against her skin like sandpaper. Hissing like a snake in irritation, she buried herself deep in the sand to wait out the heat and sunlight of the day.

She sincerely hoped Imoen was right about this. Otherwise their new Theif cabal would not last the year, let alone spread to the rest of Faerun.

[Laufey]

The moon was high over the desert. A smoky mist floated along, slowly and carefully, over the windswept dunes.

Eventually, the mist took the form of a lovely woman.

"Charmain has some sense of humor," Bhodi muttered. "To send a vampire into a sun scorched desert."

Or perhaps that was Imoen.

Contrary to popular belief, vampires do not truly need their coffins. They are preferable, but not strictly neccesary. All that is required is a bit of one's native soil kept on one's person (in Bhodi's case, a magical vial full of soil from the base of the Tree of Life of Suldenessalar, implanted under the skin of her left arm), and protection from the sun. Bhodi was less then amused to be burying herself under the sand before each dawn. The fine grains of the stuff got everywhere.

Ah, clever trick with the implanted dirt!

"Here pretty pretty," said a less than bright bandit. "Ye can't expecting to live long dresed like that in the desert." He drew a long knife.

And his life expectancy just went down to about five seconds...

Muttering curses at Imoen, Amellysan, and Charmain, she slowly undulated downwards, pushing herself into a sand dune, feeling the sand rub against her skin like sandpaper. Hissing like a snake in irritation, she buried herself deep in the sand to wait out the heat and sunlight of the day.

She sincerely hoped Imoen was right about this. Otherwise their new Theif cabal would not last the year, let alone spread to the rest of Faerun.

Nice chapter, always enjoy seeing more of Bodhi.

[Arcalian]

Ah, clever trick with the implanted dirt!

I got it from the novel Children of the Night by Mercedes Lackey, in which a vampire gets by by having a hollow metal bracelet surgically attached to his arm, with the native soil (French, in this case) inside.

And his life expectancy just went down to about five seconds...

I admit, I put this in just so I could have Bhodi say "You live so long as I tolerate it," which is what she says if you right-click her in the game.

Nice chapter, always enjoy seeing more of Bodhi.

I had this mental image in my head of Bhodi walking through the desert; it grew from there. Not the whole story, but certainly this part of it.

[Arcalian]

A wampire, but still a woman.

Oh yeah, Bhodi is definitely that. One of the points I was trying to get across.

Charmain? Yourself?

The evil bhaaspawn protagonist in this case, who ascended to the Throne. Very like Smelly Melly in a number of ways. But for their conflicting agendas, they could compare notes.

Which was one of the reasons she left her left-hand sidekick Imoen ressurect her for her own pet projects.